Sesame Swallow | The Christmas Caper (Pt 4 of 6)

A Holiday Mini-Mystery: Keeping it Jolly

“That’s all I know, Detective.” This time there was a real detective on the scene, an Amanda Hart, a tall, lanky brunette in jeans and a sweater under a puffy jacket. She’d gotten to Heath’s Woodworking right before Armand and I arrived. She went over the details with Regan and the paramedic before the ambulance pulled away, and I’d passed Gigi off then and gave her a quick rundown, everything I knew and why we were there.

I shook my head as she peeled off back towards the front door, Gigi still whimpering but not in cuffs. I lingered, my eyes on the puddle of blood next to the ice sculpture that was probably gonna look like Frosty the Snowman in the greenhouse scene long before Mr. Heath Baker got back to his shop to finish it. Did he work with others here? The two guys who’d helped him deliver this sculpture’s enormous twin? I had no idea; hadn’t seen any hint of anyone other than Gigi. And the sign didn’t mention anyone other than Heath, who was now on his way to Frederick General. The cops were shutting the place down, which meant any clue gathering here was pretty much at an end. And maybe this case was at an end, too.

Gigi had been more than mouthful, a little rambly, a little wobbly, but she’d talked. She had a gash across her nose and two black eyes when I pulled her from the car, and I’d had to help her drink the water I gave her, sure she would drop the bottle at any moment. She’d spilled some of the water, but between sips, she’d spilled her story, too, and that was as much as I could ask for, I figured. Fleeing the scene and crashing her car wasn’t going well with Detective Hart, who grumbled and growled at her. It seemed she would rather have been anywhere else right now. I couldn’t blame her; I had the same feeling.

Hart waited by the door, and that was the signal to vacate.

At least I had a story, and I also had Lindsay checking in, so I took another look around the workshop, decided I had to go with what Gigi’d told me, and nodded to Detective Hart as I stepped out onto the snowy sidewalk, my iPhone pressed to my ear.

A sharp breeze sent a shiver through me, head to toe, and Lindsay’s excited voice filled the air.

“Hey, Ses, I hope you found what you were looking for. Did you get the clues? Talk to the guy? What was he like? Like a criminal? He stole it, didn’t he?” She was on a roll, and I wondered then and there how many of the adult hot chocolates she’d had, or had she found something with more of a kick?

“Hey, girl, we’re still trying to figure this out.” I wasn’t about to tell her we’d found a dude almost dead and I’d been in a car chase with Armand, or I’d never get any info out of her. She’d be pissed she missed out on a car chase in her own car, and that would be the end of that. I’d tell her later over drinks and dessert or forget to mention it altogether and swear Armand to secrecy. “Tell me what you found out.” Best move with Linds is always to just let her talk.

“Nothing.” I could see her pretty pout. Lindsay Rains wanted so badly to be a detective and solve cases, and I just needed her to be her amazing self. “The food here is not thrilling me. You know I like my food, but this caterer, Meighan Something, is not bringing the heat. The rolls were okay, but the roast duck was more cooked goose, if you know what I mean. The veggie trays are straight from the nearest Safeway, or I’m Mrs. Claus, and the shrimp cocktail is still mostly frozen. The cocktail sauce is. I think Teddy cracked a tooth, poor thing.”

“Oh no!” Poor guy. A bad shrimp experience and Lindsay probably fussing all over him. That was either a recipe for disaster, or he was already in love. Bless her. Taking one for the team. “So, you don’t think the caterer had anything to do with the missing bauble?” I didn’t so far, based on what had just happened here, but maybe there was something else happening. We’d already found out Gigi wasn’t the only one trying to get the thing. Maybe the caterer was involved somehow.

Unfortunately, Lindsay had moved on.

“I googled Jack Smythe, you know, the deputy mayor’s hubs He has a food blog. Get this. It’s called ‘Jack’s Juice’, and tells you if a restaurant in the area is worth the squeeze.” This last bit was uttered with her signature giggle. “His reviews are elegant, and he has a way with words, but his review of this Meighan Right’s Culinary Delights — that’s what she calls her business — doesn’t jibe with what we’ve been eating. You’d think she was the Gordon Ramsay of Frederick, but she’s more like Mr. Krabs from Spongebob. Her crabby patty sandwich was good, a basic crab cake sandwich that anyone in the DMV can make, but everything else reminded me that Teddy is taking us to dinner later.” And then off to the side, I heard her say, “Aren’t you, Teddy?” I couldn’t only imagine the look on his face and what he was thinking right then. Was she feeding him? Crushing him with one of her hugs? Were they doing shots yet? She was already giggling. He’d be totally in love by the time we got back.

Just then, I looked up and spied Regan across the street, waving me over. “Gotta go, Linds. One more thing to look over, and then we’ll be back, okay? Keep Teddy warm, and find recommendations for dinner somewhere other than Jack’s Juice, okay?”

I slipped the phone into my pocket, but not before checking the time. Forty-five minutes to go, and we still had no bauble.

“Anything?” Regan was rocking from foot to foot on the corner in front of VFW Post 327, a cigarette between her fingers. A grizzled old dude stood next to her, pulling on a similar-looking cigarette. He seemed unfazed by the wind, and there were a half dozen stubs on the sidewalk as fresh as the snow. “This is Jolly, by the way. Jolly Johnson.”

He nodded, cleared his throat like he had to get some of the cancer out of the way to talk, then pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a long stream of smoke. “Staff Sergeant Johnson, First Cav.” He reached up with his cigarette between his fingers and tipped his hat, which was dark gray and emblazoned with a helicopter.

“Always nice to meet a new friend,” I said, offering him my best smile. He returned it, more of a full-facial squint than anything else. I spied a few yellow teeth behind his cigarette when he smiled back. “And thank you for your service.”

“Oh, no count of thanking me, Miss.”

“Sesame. Sesame is fine.”

“Miss Sesame. I didn’t go over ‘nam cuz I wanted. The draft, you know. Uncle Sam says you go, so’s you go. Was happier than a pig in shit to get outta there with all my fingers and toes. A little drug habit ain’t a bad thing as you got some people to lean on when you get home. I did. And I worked at the motor pool, so I wasn’t all loopy in the head with the killing and Agent Orange and loud noises and stuff. I’m over at the auto repair place now.” He hooked a thumb in a vague direction.

“Sounds great, Jolly. Regan here’s a big fan of working on cars. You two must have had a ton to talk about. Looks like you’ve been out here a bit.” I nodded at the little army of cigarette butts he was marshaling at his feet.

“Old habits,” he muttered.

Then I turned back to Regan. “Having a little vet meet-up? I wondered where you went.”

“Where I went…?” She let the rest of the scold hang in the air between us like a cloud of cold smoke, her eyes narrowed, her little cold dance suddenly at an end.

I shrugged, give her a little smile. “I ran out the back?”

“Yep.”

“After someone who might have been a suspect?”

“Yep.”

“And chased her around the block?”

“Yep.”

“And then we had a little car chase. And then she spun out on a corner and crashed her car?” Every statement sounded like I was asking a question, and suddenly I was five years old again, trying to explain to my grandparental, Martha, how I’d somehow gotten all covered in mud while playing out back.

Regan just stared at me and took another drag on her cigarette. I could feel the scold again, this one all the way down to my toes, just like I had the day I’d been making mud pies with Angie and Jimmy from next door. Regan was only a year older than me, but she had that grandma energy when she was feeling protective. Chasing the bad guys was supposed to be her thing, not mine.

Well, it was mine, but I didn’t have the best track record.

“And?”

I perked up and totally felt like that kid again, who was covered in mud, but look, I found a cool rock!

“She came for the bauble. Gigi. Gigi Blaese. Totally nailed her. And get this — she works for that other politician, the woman in the corner with the amazing suit, Shelby Stevens. She paid Heath a thousand dollars for the bauble.” The words rolled off my tongue accompanied by a bitter taste — how someone had that much money to throw around on a Christmas ornament. “A thousand dollars. What the fuck is a Christmas ornament worth a thousand dollars for?” I threw my hands up. Nothing about that made any sense, but it took me off the hook. I wasn’t covered in mud anymore.

My girl perked up at that, a smile stealing across her face, and she tossed the butt of her cigarette down and crushed it under her boot. “So, we’re done here? You got it? I’m starving, and these damn cigarettes have me hankering for a nice steak and maybe a nice bourbon Old Fashioned.” She pulled her hood up over her head, tucking her fro in on all sides, and then shoved her hands in her pockets. “Where’s your friend Teddy taking us for dinner?”

“Don’t count your bourbons before they hatch,” I said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “She didn’t have it. Someone took it, and I couldn’t get out of her who it was. I don’t think she knew.”

“Huh? Wait, there’s more than one person paying a thousand dollars for this stupid thing? Didn’t the deputy mayor guy or Teddy say it was made of wood? Like ancient, rare wood that doesn’t exist on Earth anymore? Did Jesus hang it on the first Christmas tree?”

“No, nothing like that. She said she’d paid, but someone else showed up right after her, and she got spooked and hid in the back, worried it was someone from the party. There was some talking, and a thud — let’s assume that was Heath hitting the floor, and then footsteps and the front door opening. She peeked out to see Heath on the floor, blood around him, and she panicked, and then we walked in.”

“We came in right after they fought or whatever happened?”

“I dunno.” I shrugged again, tugged on the zipper on my coat and pulled my hood up over my head to match Regan. Why were we still standing out here with Mr. Vietnam Chain Smoker 1972, when we could be sitting in the heated car? “I don’t know how we missed the mystery person, but I didn’t get a description from Gigi. Girl seemed pretty frazzled. We were barely moving when she crashed her car, and she seemed totally out of it. I think she was more jolted from her airbag than the crash.” I looked back across the street, thinking it was time to go, but when I turned back, Regan was nodding her head. “What’s up?”

“Luckily I came over here then. After Detective Hart asked me to step outside and give her the room, I saw Jolly standing over here and took him up on an old, bad habit. I smoked the whole time in the ‘stan. A lot of us did. Quit when I got back. You know,” she said, as if I did.

“Some things never change,” said Jolly. “Course in ‘nam we had smack, too.”

I took one look at the guy and suddenly understood why he looked a hundred years old.

Regan didn’t even blink. “We got to talking, and Jolly told me that right before we arrived, there was quite a lot of business at the woodworking shop.”

“See the guy? Person? Whoever?” I turned to Jolly, who was lighting a new cig from the bright end of the old one. Vietnam didn’t kill him, but chain smoking was going to. “Jolly, old friend, what did you see over at Heath’s?”

He took a long drag, looked at Regan, who nodded, then pointed out past me toward the woodworking shop, the freshly lit cigarette glowing in the early evening darkness. “After a few beers, I always need a smoke. I been coming here a long time, and Heath comes over after doing his wood crafting stuff, sometimes brings us something he’s made. Good guy. So, like half a sixer in, I need to clear my head, and the hankering for a few cigs comes in strong. It gets hard to see anything in the lodge, on account of it being so dark in there anyways. So’s I come out, and as I’m standing here, I seen it.” He grinned again, and I sort of wished he wouldn’t.

“Seen what?”

He shrugged and took another drag, and I looked at my watch again. Thirty-five minutes.

“A woman in a blue Toyota Camry — I work on cars, so I know ’em all; well, she parks right in front, then walks in. Figured Heath was getting some more business. Then, another car pulls up, only this one’s a Ford Explorer, black all around, real sleek like, and a fat fella hops out and goes in.”

“What did he look like?” Thirty-five minutes, I thought — a “fat fella” shows up and takes the bauble? Did he hurt Heath? Threaten? Gigi was pretty jumpy, so maybe it went bad?

“‘Bout my height, six feet. Big fella, long black coat. Very fine looking. Wore a gray skull cap over his ears.”

“And then what?”

But Jolly Johnson was on to his next cigarette, his eyes taking on a far away look, as if he suddenly didn’t remember he was having a conversation. I looked at my watch again and gave Regan a look.

“Jolly? We need to know, buddy. One vet to another; I need you to focus.”

Jolly blinked, finding Regan and then me. He nodded. Maybe the heroin wasn’t just a Nam thing, but I wasn’t going to ask. “Yeah. He came out a few minutes later. Walked out, got in his Explorer and drove off. And then you showed up. And then, I saw you coming running out and get in the Tahoe.” He tapped his cigarette, and the little nub of ashes dropped away onto his coat.

“And did you notice anything about the guy? Anything else? See the license plate? Did you see anything else about his clothes or how he walked?” Fuck. We were gonna get nowhere with this. We had half an hour, and all we had was a general description of an overweight guy in an SUV. That was half of America.

“Nah,” said Jolly, pulling hard on the cig. “Fat guy though. Didn’t miss a meal, that’s for sure. Nobody as looks like that doesn’t know their way around a menu.”

And that’s when it hit me. My eyes drifted over to Regan, then back to Jolly. Maybe it was something, and maybe it was nothing, but it didn’t hurt to ask. “Jolly, my friend, do you like Vietnamese food?”

His whole body went into motion then, him nodding, cigarette bouncing on the end of his skinny arm. “Oh, do I? I married a Viet girl, God rest her soul. Shame there’s no good pho around these parts. I could go for a nice banh mi right now.”

“Nothing good in Frederick?” I asked.

“I mean, there’s Saigon Pho about three blocks from here, but it’s not authentic. I dunno where they get their ingredients from. Shameful.”

“Perfect.” I glanced at Regan, and she was looking at me like I had two heads. But I knew then what our next step was. It was a hunch, and I was gonna play it. We were getting that bauble back, and we had twenty-five minutes to do it.